To the Music Wing
by rubberduckyqueen
Summary: This is the account of a violinist in a marching band, told in the first person. The story revolves around the drama found in the music wing: the various romances and dramatic relationships, the section battles, the ensemble wars... Chapter 2 FINALLY UP!
1. Fifth Grade

**To The MUSIC WING **

**Chapter One –** Fifth Grade

_A tale of Music Nerdiness and Band Geekiness by Carolyn Anderson_

School assembly at Kenzington's Southwestern Elementary School... I was ten years old, and new to the public school system. I had just switched that year after finishing the fourth grade in Saint Peter's Parochial School, where I'd been since Kindergarten. Although I sorely missed the atmosphere of SPS, this new public school felt as if I was seeing new colors for the first time.

At Saint Peters, we were in a class size of about 15 – 20, and there was only one class per grade – Kindergarten through 8th. Everything was very specific: first thing in the morning, we always had religion class, then we learned each subject at our teacher's discretion, then gym class (depending on what day), and we always had recess and rosary after lunch. I don't really remember having much of a personality or chance to truly express oneself during those 5 years. Art class was a rare treat, and the only musical opportunities we were given were to join the Church's Children's Choir, so I never really developed a genuine interest in music. Life then, as I reflect back upon it, was always so orderly and bland – a mind-numbing array of shades of beige and grey.

I watched the assembly somewhat interested in the cafetorium (both cafeteria and auditorium). The principal of my school, whose name I never bothered to know, introduced Mr. Vanek – a bald man who talked too much. I didn't listen to him very well. One by one, he was introducing some people behind him on the stage who were holding instruments of various types. Once their name was called and a small blurb about them and their instrument was announced, they each played a small part of a song on said instrument. It was pretty cool, but as I said, I was only mildly interested and in a day-dreamy, half-asleep state of mind. I never really paid it much attention until after the last musician played. It was then that Mr. Vanek said that if we had any interest in learning how to play one of these instruments, you could come up and get a form to have your parents fill out.

_"What?"_ I thought. _"They're gunna... let me do that? I can learn that?"_ Thoughts raced through my mind of big musicians playing beautiful concertos. I imagined an individual violinist with bright lights shining just on him, then I imagined myself appearing in his place. It was a gorgeous vision. I never really considered any other instruments; I just wanted to be that superb violinist. I hurried – well, more like frolicked – up to the stage and immediately got a form from Mr. Vanek.

A week later, I was told to leave my class during silent reading and went downstairs with three other kids from my class. All of us had already handed in our forms signed by our parents. Every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday we were to have violin lessons with Mr. Vanek. I was so excited! Today, however, we were just supposed to come and be measured for violins. He had me hold up his violin, but it was too big, and another one was way too small, so I got a ¾ size. That's nearly as big as they come, but not quite. It was $30.00 each year to rent it, but I didn't think my mom would mind once I began bringing in thousands of millions of dollars for each of my concerts. I was shocked to see Mr. Vanek turn around, grab a hard black case and hand it to me – I hadn't thought that I'd get it so fast!! Then we all went back to our class and waited eagerly for the rest of the day to pass by.

The minute I got home I opened up the case and took out my violin and the bow and began to "play." It made the most horrific and the most beautiful sounds I'd ever heard. It wasn't beautiful because I'd never heard good violinists before, because I've always been partial to orchestrated music and symphonic bands, but it was gorgeous because it was **_ME_** playing. **_I_** was making those sounds. They were **_MY_** sounds... **_MY_** music.

_And that was the beginning of it all.........._


	2. Middle School

**To The MUSIC WING**

**ChapterTwo –** Middle School

_A tale of Music Nerdiness and Band Geekiness by Carolyn Anderson_

...As the year progressed, I got somewhat decent at playing my violin. I (somewhat reluctantly) joined an after school program directed by Mrs. Wolff, who taught orchestra at the middle school for grades 6 to 8th. I was scared to go, but my mom forced me, but I immediately warmed up to Mrs. Wolff when she gave us Oreos after every rehearsal. I know, I know, I'm very easy to win over. Gradually I got better and better at it, and that made me incredibly happy. We had a concert at the end of the year, and then elementary school ended.

The summer passed and I continued to practice, although not much. When school started, I was neither better nor worse than I had been at the end of fifth grade. Orchestra met two days a week during a study hall period, and every other week we met a third day. Band met at the same times we did, and they actually had a Band Room. All we had was Mrs. Wolff's office to have lessons in at various times during the day, and we rehearsed outside of the auditorium. Those three years spent in middle school was where all the wars took root, but I'll tell you about that later.

In seventh grade, I joined the chorus as well as orchestra, and I also excelled in my sight-reading test at the beginning of the year and I became first chair in the second violin section. Everyone looked up to me in my section, and I felt so superior. It may make me seem very vain and conceited, but I thrived in being above them. I learned so much and I played happily. I didn't practice very much, but hey, I was first chair. My mom tried to push me to try to become a first violin, but I never mentioned it to Mrs. Wolff. I'd rather be a first chair second violinist rather than be last chair first violinist. Plus, my section clearly depended on me, no offense to them of course.

With my overblown ego of being the first of the seconds, I began to practice less and less. I picked up my violin only once or twice each week. Sometimes I even got to three times, but that was out of sheer boredom. Yet by some stroke of luck, I did improve. It must have been Mrs. Wolff's motivation and overall good teaching. She'd tease us and yell at us and get incredibly mad at us sometimes, but most of the time she'd be in good humor. Except for when she's mad at us, she always was in good humor.

Two girls named Emily and Kirsten were in my section, and they liked to tease me sometimes. They'd poke my butt with their violin bows through the back of the chair, or they'd tap the top of my head with their bows, then as soon as I turn around, they'd look at the ceiling, feigning innocence. Kirsten even named my violin for me. Albert... Albert was his name. She said it was after Albert Einstein, "...because you're so smart!" It only occurs to me now that these were my only friends in orchestra. I could match faces with names, and those with instruments, but still, I was practically an outsider - a laugh here, a smile there, occasionally sharing a stand when they forgot their music, but I wasn't really friends with any of them. Wow, that sure changed quickly.

By eighth grade, I was pretty damn good at violin, if-I-say-so-myself. Granted I never understood what articulation meant, my dynamics were always a little bit loud or a little bit too quiet, I had NO clue what key signatures meant and how to apply that to playing, I had no clue how to tune, and shifting to third or even second position was an out-right IMPOSSIBILITY, but... I was satisfied with my level of playing. I was an honors student in all my academics, and I was still first chair. When Mrs. Wolff approached me during my lunch period, I was sort of in disbelief when she asked me if I wanted to switch to the first violin section. I nodded and spat out a weak 'Yea, sure.'

Can you see my head swelling from where you are? .....I'm sure you could see my inflated egotistic self-esteem for miles...

I didn't even go to the back of the section with the last chair first violins. I sat in the same spot I did as a second, only about an inch or two over. I just wedged myself in as third-chair, next to two girls named Tara and Krista. The notes were higher and the rhythms much harder. But we got to play the melody rather than harmony, and we were always heard.

Yet again, I kept practicing less and less. At this point, I was practicing Albert about once a week, if he was lucky. This idea of improving without trying stuck in my head, and I got used to succeeding without bleeding, and winning without losing... What a horrible habit to get into.

By the time the end of the year rolled along, this was so imprinted on my brain it's almost disgusting to reflect back upon. The orchestra teacher from the high school came on occasion just to "visit" us, although we all knew I was to recruit us for the high school orchestra. I ignored his presence as much as possible. I was so annoyed with all the high school recruiters. No, I don't want to go to any of the agriculture-centered schools nearby. No, I don't want to go to any of the technical schools nearby. No, I don't want to go to a catholic school again. No, I don't want to do any of that. Yet again, it was my arrogance speaking and dismissing them all. At least my insolence made the right choice, this time.

At the end of eighth grade, I was sad to leave Mrs. Wolff. Actually, I was more than just sad – I was incredibly depressed and on the verge of tears for the longest time. I was relieved and proud to get rid of my ¾-size violin and be upgraded to a full-size violin, whose name remained to be Albert. Al for short, Albert for his full name, and if I wanted to go all out, his name was Albertos van Violinnington. It never really occurred to me that I could quit orchestra next year at the High School. Not once did I ever consider it. In part, it was my own pride and conceitedness at having become a first violin and in part it also was that I didn't think I had the choice.

That summer I didn't practice even once. It's frustrating to say so, and then put it in writing for me to keep rereading and rereading. Frustrating in the sense that I have no choice but to admit how conceited and self-absorbed I was. I exalted myself no matter how badly I was, and whenever in a discussion with another about my progress, I would even humble myself purposefully in order to be exalted by that person. It disgusts me to look back on that, and, with that, I must continue the story...


End file.
